88 - Anchored in Truth
Scarlett held his gaze, Ethan's strides tore down the corridor like a predator hunting its own shadow.
Each footfall swallowed the polished marble beneath him, long, unyielding, deliberate-yet no distance could shake the image that had taken root in his mind.
Scarlett. Scarlett pressed against the wall, fire igniting behind her eyes, the kind of pain that refused to be named, the kind that screamed in silence.
The farther he walked, the sharper the image cut him, carving into his chest with every step.
By the time he reached the far end of the hallway, the expected relief never came.
Instead, a hollow ache spread through him, heavier with each breath.
He slammed his palms against the cold marble, the stone biting into his skin, grounding him-but even that didn't quiet the storm clawing inside.
His reflection caught in the gilt-edged mirror across the hall. A stranger stared back. Shadowed eyes, a jaw set like iron, shoulders braced as though against a hurricane. His lips parted before thought could intervene.
"What the hell am I doing?"
The words were harsh, low, fractured. Nearly-just nearly-he had kissed her again. Not for control. Not for power. But from an unfiltered, gnawing need. A hunger that tore apart every layer of discipline he had meticulously built.
He dragged a hand through his hair, nails biting into the strands as if pain could anchor him.
Scarlett Landon. A name meant to be nothing more than a line on a contract.
A calculated arrangement. And yet... her face wouldn't leave him.
The tremble of her lashes when he tilted her chin, the sudden flush of crimson on her cheeks, the silence that spoke louder than any confession.
Ethan's chest tightened. One undeniable truth pressed in, unwelcome but absolute: with Scarlett, he wasn't Ethan Blackwood, CEO, the ruthless heir, the calculated strategist. He was just a man. And realizing it hit him like a blow, leaving him gasping for air he didn't know he had been holding.
His fists curled against the marble. Was that why he had followed her?
Memory replayed with brutal clarity. Scarlett leaving without a word. The ache of her absence gnawing until instinct drove him here. No plan. No strategy. Just raw, unrelenting need.
He shook his head violently, as if denial could erase the truth.
Why was he standing in her world, playing the part of the devoted husband before her parents?
Why had he agreed to stay the weekend? Work, once his sanctuary, his religion, left behind for one stubborn, infuriating woman who had breached every line he'd drawn around himself.
Scarlett. The name was both curse and balm.
His chest constricted with a foreign ache. He wanted to shove it away, bury it, but denial was crumbling. Every glance, every lie, every stolen moment pointed to the same devastating truth.
He wanted her. He needed her.
Ethan exhaled sharply. His knuckles collided with the marble in a dull crack, pain shooting up his arm, grounding him in the now-but nothing could uncoil the thought tightening in his chest.
I shouldn't have left like that.
The admission scraped at his pride. Bitter. Raw. He should've stayed. Demanded the truth trembling in her silence. Listened instead of storming off like a fool.
Her voice lingered in memory, sharp, breaking, holding words she hadn't dared release.
"She wanted to tell me," he murmured, voice rough, hollow. "And I didn't let her."
For the first time in years, Ethan Blackwood hated the silence he had left behind. It was uncontrolled. Unconquered. Not a victory.
He straightened slowly, drawing a breath that tasted like defeat. His reflection mocked him-eyes dark, lips pressed thin. A man who had power over everything but the one woman he couldn't have.
Scarlett's defiance had always infuriated him. Now it haunted him. Beneath it, he had glimpsed something fragile, fiercely guarded. Something he had abandoned.
His hands flexed at his sides, torn between pride and instinct. Neither seemed likely to win.
Because a voice inside him whispered, sharp and merciless:
If you don't turn back... if you don't face her now... you might lose more than just an argument.
You might lose her.
The door creaked. Ethan Blackwood stepped into Scarlett's room, his towering frame consuming the space. The air shifted, thick with unspoken words.
Scarlett perched on the edge of the bed, her face carefully arranged in indifference. But he saw it-the flicker of anger, of hurt, of vulnerability-before she smoothed it into a mask.
"Scarlett," he said, low, measured, testing the space between them.
Her control shattered at the sound of her name on his lips. She sprang upright, fire sparking behind her eyes. Hands clenched into his shirt collar, pulling him close, voice slicing the silence like a thunderclap.
"Who do you think you are, Ethan?" Her body trembled against his chest. "Who gave you the right to play with my feelings?"
Her fist lifted, ready to strike, but his hand shot out. Strong, steady fingers wrapped around her wrist-unyielding, protective, not cruel.
"Stop it, Scarlett." His voice rumbled, deep, commanding, yet laced with something unspoken.
She struggled, but he held fast, eyes dark and searching, almost pleading beneath the steel.
"I shouldn't have done it," he admitted, clipped, each word dragged from his throat. Then, softer, almost a whisper, "I'm sorry. But I didn't do it in that way."
Scarlett froze. Ethan Blackwood-apologizing? The man who never bent? The man who never bowed? Her grip faltered, confusion colliding with a familiar ache.
"Then... if you didn't mean it that way," she whispered, voice trembling, "why did you kiss me in the first place?"
Silence. Heavy. Pressing. Her pulse hammered in her ears. She tugged at his shirt, desperate.
"Answer me, Ethan."
Finally, he exploded, raw and unguarded.
"Because I wanted to do that!"
Her lips parted in disbelief. A bitter laugh escaped. "And you expect me to believe you?"
Before he could respond, she shoved harder, voice jagged. "I saw everything, Ethan."
Confusion flickered across his face.
"I know you still love Catherine. So why are you doing this to me?"
His jaw clenched. "Why are you bringing Catherine into this again?"
"Because I saw you," Scarlett spat, breaking, "kissing Catherine-on the same day you kissed me."
The words struck him like ice. His body stiffened, eyes widening as the shock shattered his mask. Scarlett felt the sting of her own confession in the echo of her voice.
"It's not what you think, Scarlett-" he began, urgent, desperate.
"No." Her palm rose, final, silencing him. Defiance glimmered in her glistening eyes.
The room shrank around them, every unsaid word pressing closer, every denial suffocating.
Ethan gripped her shoulders, anchoring her, voice low and rough. "Is that why you left? Is that why you ran from me?"
His words vibrated through her, stirring things she didn't dare acknowledge. He pressed on, urgent, relentless.
"You don't know the whole story. That kiss-it wasn't what you think. Let me explain."
He drew in a shuddering breath, chest rising, trembling faintly beneath her hands. "What you saw... is not real. She came out of nowhere. And..." His throat worked, as though each word cost him more than he wanted to admit.
Scarlett held his gaze, unwilling to blink, unwilling to let him slip through her fingers with half-truths.
"I didn't like it," he finished, growling, steel cracking into vulnerability.
"You didn't... like it?" Her brow arched, suspicion laced with astonishment.
He leaned closer, mask faltering, eyes burning with raw honesty. "Do you think I'd ever go back to Catherine? After she walked away?"
His voice wasn't commanding now-it was fractured, bare, hurt laid open.
Scarlett pressed her lips together, silence affirming what she dared not speak: Ethan Blackwood wasn't the type to return to someone who had betrayed him.
And yet, her chest coiled tight, a warmth twisting inside her. Was it because he hadn't liked Catherine's kiss? Or because, without words, he'd promised never to return?
Still, her heart ached. Not once had he said he wanted her. Not once had he said he liked her. Was she still just a contract to him?
She didn't ask. The rejection would shatter her.
Ethan's gaze lingered, searching, almost pleading. Fingers flexed, longing restrained, afraid she might push him away.
When her silence stretched, he spoke, quieter now, vulnerable.
"Is your doubt clarified now?"
Scarlett hesitated. Then, a small, wordless nod.
The gesture loosened something in him. Shoulders dropped. For a fleeting second, the untouchable Ethan Blackwood seemed human-relieved, fragile. He inhaled, as though her nod had lifted some invisible weight.
"Now you know the truth," he murmured, voice tight with conviction. "So tomorrow... we're going back. Back to our place."
Not a request. A command. A declaration.
Scarlett's lips parted. No sound escaped. The air between them trembled with hurt, longing, defiance, desire.
And in that silence, a blade of a question hovered-
Would she stay... or run again?
For Scarlett, the question burned, unanswered, in the hollow of her heart.